


His Just Desserts

by TheHuggamugCafe



Series: Mildly Spicy TLC [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Full-blown making out, Intense Kissing, Making Out, Reader-Insert, Sexual innuendos, husband/wife, incubus!Akira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: You’re frustrated.You’re beyond frustrated.Akira always, always leaves you hanging at the worst possible time.You intend to let him know how it feels. To be the one left hanging.You will give him his just desserts, come Hell or high water.





	His Just Desserts

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks goes to pre-teen-summer on Tumblr, for planting the seed for this scenario/musing. 
> 
> So thank you very much for that, Summer. Cheers to you, dear customer.

There was a certain word to describe getting ready for the day, or relaxing at home in the evenings, especially when it concerned your husband, Akira Kurusu. Actually, there were _several_ words.

Flirtatious. Sultry. Sensual, but rarely sexual. Unless it was a day off, then…

On days off he was more likely to ignore your protests of, “Akira, the bacon’s burning!” or “The smoke detector’s going to go off!”

“Mm. But there’s something else I’d much prefer to _eat_ right now, Treasure.”

It was such a treat to see that adorable blush highlighting your cheeks, to see that familiar doe-eyed sheen in your eyes as you stared up at him, and he watched as you gently bit on your lower lip.

“The food can wait, darling. I, however… _I cannot_.”

So it was no surprise that by the time you and Akira were done fooling around for a bit, what would normally be breakfast or dinner was charred, scorched, and downright inedible.

If it took place in the morning, you settled for a quick on-the-go breakfast instead. Usually, you settled for a breakfast bar and a small thermos of your favourite hot drink, and Akira was always, always quick to kiss you goodbye before you both left for work. Several times.

If you two got down and a bit dirty in the evening, Akira would settle for calling a local take-out joint, or treating you to some coffee and curry, courtesy of his employer.

However…

There came a point that despite your love for your husband, you disliked the fact that he always, always managed to one-up you. It annoyed you that he could reduce you to a sweating, blushing, panting and hot mess. 

It was more vexing that he acted as though nothing had happened, cooing, “What a delicious treat you are” in your ear, pausing to nibble on the lobe before he simpered playfully, “Now shall we get started on dinner? I’m looking forward to dessert, my dear.”

To polish off everything off, he’d lean back, looking you dead in the eyes as there was a flash of pink, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he pivoted on his heels.

Usually, he’d pause to throw you a smug, holier-than-thou glance over his shoulder, smirk curling his lips as he took in the sight of your glassy-eyed, dishevelled self.

It was irksome. It thoroughly annoyed you how easily he could wind you up—only to leave you hanging at the worst possible moment.

It drove you _absolute_ bonkers, and you knew that he knew it.

Clearly, Akira needed to be taught that he wasn’t the only one who could tease the soul out of his dearest.

As much of an ass as he could be at times, he was a hell of a teacher when it came to matters behind closed doors.

For once, you wanted to be the one to leave him hanging.

Once, just once, you’d give almost anything to see him looking desperate, pleading you with his eyes to continue.

You wanted to gloat for just a bit, and you swore you would.

So, you laid in wait, waiting for the perfect moment—and the perfect place—to enact your revenge.

It wasn’t until when Akira returned 30 minutes early from work one night that the opportunity was presented to you. 

“Darling, I’m home~!”

Akira’s teasing call came from the foyer as he stepped inside, shutting and locking the door as he kicked off his shoes, setting them aside. It took everything you had to stop yourself from chuckling, from smiling as the sound of approaching footsteps gave Akira’s advance away.

Soon, you felt a pair of arms wrapping around your waist, tugging you closer as you felt noir hair tickling the bare skin on your neck as a chin rested on your shoulder.

“Good evening, my Treasure,” he cooed in your ear, pausing to breathe in your scent.

“Welcome home, Akira,” you replied, earning a soft “hm” as the demon wasted little time in pressing several kisses to your neck, your shoulder.

The noiret’s hands skimmed up and down your body, slowly but carefully mapping out the various curves and bumps of your form, kissing the juncture where your shoulder and neck met, polishing it off with a soft nibble.

You knew where he’d take this; it was where he always took things when he came home from work, when he woke up in the morning.

You played along, breathing a sigh through your lips, feigning mild irritation.

The fact that he had no idea what you were scheming only served to remind you that, yes, your idea of revenge would be oh so sweet in the end.

“Akira, could you stop, please? I have to get dinner ready-”

Three things stopped you from whatever it was you planned to say to him.

The first was Akira’s hands gripping your clothed hips.

The second was him lifting you off of the kitchen floor, carrying you over to the counter top behind the stove, adjacent to the sink, and set you down upon it.

The third was a pair of lips finding yours, gently but lovingly taking tender lip-locks from you. You obliged, but halfheartedly, raising a hand to remove his glasses as he leaned away, his lips disconnecting with a soft wet pop.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he murmured, watching as you folded the black-framed specs. 

“I’m feeling a bit _wound up_ tonight. You’ll help me _relax_ , won’t you?”

Ordinarily, you would have said “yes.” 

If it was any other time, you would have said anything, done anything to let Akira rub his knowledge of your personal weak spots into your face. You would have gladly let Akira gloat, to smirk in satisfaction.

However…

Tonight would be different.

You swore it would be, and you would see to it that your desire was realized on this evening.

So, instead of speaking, you allowed your mouth and hands to do the talking for you.

Your lips were quick to find Akira’s, and your hands were raised, your fingers carding through his frizzy black hair as he breathed a near-silent gasp of surprise into your mouth.

His taken aback state didn’t last as he soon voiced a soft hum of approval, raising his hands to let his hands rest on your clothed hip, your shoulder, bringing you closer as you both kissed like high school teenagers behind the bleachers.

Mouths meshed together, and very quickly, tongues were introduced into the equation. For 10 minutes that was where you remained—sitting on the counter top, gently kept in place by your husband’s hands.

“Someone’s being a naughty little tease tonight,” he hissed into your mouth, licking your tongue one last time before leaning away.

 _Oh, you’re not getting off that easily, my dear Akira. Not tonight,_ you crooned mentally, your silent voice edged with a soft little purr.

“And yet you love it, darling,” you simpered, batting your eyelashes as you smiled at him, daring to bare a teasing glimpse of pearly whites.

“What’s gotten into you?” Akira asked, blinking owlishly as you fiddled with the fake black-framed glasses he always wore.

“What? I can’t welcome my doting husband home after a long, tiring day at work? I can’t kiss him like he kisses me?”

Akira opened his mouth to speak, but he was quickly cut off by the soft warmth of your lips pressing against his.

His eyes widened, uttering a groan of surprise into your lips. For a moment, and only a moment, you caught a glimpse of astonishment as it spread across his face. You saw the glint of curiosity, of amazement as it passed through his warm onyx irises, breathing a soft moan of approval as his hands reached for you, pulling you in closer.

Still, you waited; you promised that you’d be patient. You allowed Akira to kiss you, to skim his hands up and down your body, to press himself closer to you as one of his hands found the small knot that kept your apron tied around your waist, its straps looped over your shoulders.

The apron that, ironically enough, bore the words _‘Kiss the Cook’_ in white letters, strangely complimented the black apron.

His fall coat had long since been discarded, shrugging it off of him 5 minutes into the heated kissing session. You remembered the shuffle of fabric as it slipped down from his shoulders, sliding down his back and hitting the floor with a noticeable rustle.

By the time you felt Akira’s fingers toying with the knot of your apron, when you felt his hips slowly, carefully rocking into yours, you couldn’t help but smile as Akira’s tongue licked yours.

“Well,” you muttered, giving Akira’s tongue one last stroke with yours, pressing one last kiss to his lips before leaning away.

“I should get started on making dinner.”

“Wait, what? Treasure, we’re in the middle of-”

“Dinner. You can wait this time, Akira.”

His expression was priceless.

He looked the way a child would look as his or her favourite toy was taken away; wide owlish eyes, mouth hanging agape, looking as confused and let down as he sounded.

“But-”

“Nope, sorry.”

The soft thump as your feet hit the kitchen floor was obvious, and you flashed him a brief smile as you gently, oh so gently, nudged him aside. You stopped to stoop down and collect his fall coat, pressing the black glasses into his hands as you walked past him.

You were halfway to the kitchen threshold when Akira’s voice made you stop, and despite your best efforts, a chill danced up and down your spine as a shudder shook your shoulders.

His voice was low, suggestive, and promised retaliation.

“I’ll make sure to return your devious favour two-fold later, sweetheart.”

You swallowed a gulp, but you mustered up what little courage you had left, turning around and leaving him with a parting statement.

“I’m looking forward to it, my devilish darling.”


End file.
